Purple
by Citis
Summary: "And he repeated the name like it was a fucking mantra." Chris/Piers. Post RE6. Two-shot (in progress).


**Notes**_**:**_ After I've neglected my other fic, 'Living in the Past,' I decided I'd write something else to make up for that. So this is that 'something else,' which is a songfic written to 'Purple,' by Pop Evil.

Disclaimers are at the end.

Word count (excluding the lyrics): 2066.

xxx

_Such a beautiful color you wear upon your skin_

_And a perfect shade of purple on a flower permanent_

_And I'm constantly reminded of a past that never bloomed_

_As I sit behind these bars only silence fills the room._

Piers' favorite color had been purple. He had worn it often when he wasn't on missions; he liked to wear the color in front of Chris.

"Piers," he had stopped him once. "You, um...that color suits you." He liked the face Piers made at the comment.

"Thanks, Captain."

He'd kill to see that face again – a face untouched by evil, a face that only smiled at him when no one else was around.

He'd kill to see Piers in purple again, too.

But killing wouldn't bring the dead back.

So he turned to alcohol again to drown out the pain, to forget what could have been had Piers lived.

They'd have lived in the same apartment, share the same bed. Piers would have whispered reassurances, his warm breath tickling Chris' ear. And Chris would have protected him better than he did in Lanshiang.

He wouldn't be sitting in some bar, drunk off his ass, feeling sorry for himself. He wouldn't wake up every morning half-frozen and hungover.

He'd be happy.

xxx

_I've never been down this road before_

_As the days go by I only miss you more_

_I thought one day we would touch the sky_

_Never grow up, never gonna die_

_I never realized what you meant to me_

_Until I tried drowning out your memory_

_But it burns red like it's not over_

_It only hurts when I'm sober._

xxx

He hadn't actually loved anyone, now that he thought about it; not even Jill. He'd fucked her – Piers, too – but he hadn't felt anything other than lust, for both of them. Chris had tried to love Jill, but a relationship between them couldn't last. He tried loving Piers, as well, but the spark he felt between them was only that: a spark, one that couldn't start a fire, no matter how hard it tried. It was like Chris' emotions dampened the timber that the spark needed to ignite into a white-hot flame.

There was passion, sure, but no love; if Piers loved him, it was unrequited on Chris' side.

But the more he drank – the more he tried to forget – the more he realized that spark could have become a flame – a flame that wouldn't have stopped for any bucket of water or rainstorm.

Chris had to take a moment to chuckle at this, to imagine it – a flame that kept raging regardless of how much water hit it. He wanted an undying love like that. He probably could have had one, if Piers survived.

And just like that, his mood was back to being sour. The crushing of the quarter-full can of beer proved his change in mood, and he chucked the crumpled aluminum can across the bar.

He popped the tab of the other can in front of him, and drank from the opening.

God, when was the last time he had been sober for more than two hours?

xxx

_Such a beautiful color I wear upon my skin_

_And a perfect shade of purple on a flower permanent_

_And I'm constantly reminded of how I should have changed_

_And now I can't stop thinking about the love that slipped away_

_It slipped away._

xxx

Chris wore a lot of purple ever since Piers' death in China. It could be seen as a tribute to a hero, and that's basically what it was, though one usually didn't try to drink away the memory of their heroes.

A hero didn't fucking sacrifice their life to save their captain. Well, maybe they did, but that didn't matter. Chris should have been the hero. He should have been the...

He wanted to touch Piers again. But it would have been slow, sweet...it would have been beautiful. It wouldn't have been like all those quick fucks in Edonia and China. He would have had more time to just let his hands roam over soft, unscarred flesh.

Chris wanted to strip the purple t-shirt he wore from his body, then, and he wanted to tear apart the fucking picture hanging on the wall in front of him – it had...it had too much purple.

But the only thing he did was take another swig of beer from the can he seemingly clutched to.

He hated being like this – drunk and resembling a fucking train-wreck.

He just wanted to be happy like everyone else. Chris couldn't change, though, because the motivation to do so wasn't in him.

He'd have changed for Piers, if Piers were there. Maybe he could've fallen in love in a casual setting, too.

All he had now was alcohol and depressing memories, though.

Chris really, _really_ wanted to touch Piers again. He really did.

xxx

_I've never been down this road before_

_As the days go by I only miss you more_

_I thought one day we would touch the sky_

_Never grow up, never gonna die_

_I never realized how much you meant to me_

_Until I tried drowning out your memory_

_But it burns red like it's not over_

_It only hurts when I'm sober._

xxx

Piers had seemed invincible until that battle with Haos.

Haos was too strong for them, and Chris constantly cursed himself for even existing; if he weren't there, if it were Piers and someone else, he knew the sniper would have survived. But Captain Redfield couldn't save anyone, not even one single person. He could only save himself, though even then, he doubted that. Depression was something he couldn't rescue himself from. Drinking, though, took away the pain, even if only for a little while.

Chris Redfield wanted nothing more than to kill himself and sleep peacefully. Forever.

xxx

_You're all that I ever wanted_

_You're all that I needed_

_And now I'm spending a lifetime_

_Drowning without you_

_I'm starting over and over again._

xxx

Sobriety killed a man like Chris. It ate him up, chewed him for a little while, and spit him right back out. He was bombarded with thoughts about how he wanted – _needed_ – Piers, when he was sober, and he didn't need shit like that. Which is why, as soon as the closest bar opened for the day, he was immediately seated inside getting wasted. Every single fucking day, drowning in his own misery, all alone.

When he heard the jingle of a bell, his blood-shot eyes were on the door in an instant. Of course, it wasn't Piers, and Chris hated that every time someone walked in, he got his hopes up. He needed to stop wishing for a dead man to come back.

Being drunk and trying to think at the same time, though, caused Chris to groan and lie his head down on the cool, lamented wood of the table. He felt sick, but didn't want to move to puke. He wanted to cry, but battle-hardened soldiers like him didn't do such things in public – even if the current public was a total of two people.

So he closed his eyes, and drifted into a light sleep.

xxx

_Such a beautiful color you wear upon your skin_

_And a perfect shade of purple on a flower permanent._

xxx

Chris' drunken dream was in the form of a memory. In the dream – the memory...whatever the fuck you wanted to call it, Piers was being stripped of the uniform he wore during missions. He wasn't wearing purple, but the feeling of their trysts, as Chris described them, resembled the color. To him, purple was both red and black at the same time. Red was passionate, black was melancholic, and purple was a mix. A dulled passion, filled with more sadness than should have been necessary, Chris could only guess.

Piers never had to wear purple for the color to be there, because purple was _their_ color – it wasn't anymore, but it had been.

Their fucks had seemed sincere, too, albeit always quick. Little purple fucks, as stupid as it sounded. Piers would have found it funny.

xxx

_I've never been down this road before_

_As days go by I only miss you more_

_I thought one day we could touch the sky_

_Never grow up, never gonna die_

_I never realized what you meant to me_

_Until I tried drowning out your memory_

_But it burns red like it's not over_

_It only hurts when I'm sober._

xxx

He never figured Piers would die; he had placed him on the pedestal of a god, after all, and gods didn't die. In his eyes, Piers had been immortal, and that's why he idolized him – that's why he was dead-set on having Piers take his role as captain. Piers was a better leader than Chris ever was. And sometimes, though he'll never admit it outside of a drunken stupor, he needed Piers to lead him. He even needed Piers to guide him through something that had come so naturally many times before.

_His hands shook furiously as he fumbled with a strap on Piers' tactical vest. He couldn't get the thing to click open – this had been easier last time._

_Softer, smaller hands came up to wrap around his, then. "Let me do it, Captain." Chris could only oblige, and he stared, almost fascinatedly, at how Piers managed to get the strap open when he couldn't._

"_How-,"_

"_Shh, you need to relax," Piers touched his palms to the breast of Chris' own vest. "It'll be quicker that way."_

_He still remembered the pure smile on that face._

_He remembered smiling, too, when Piers kissed him – sweet and simple – to cheer him up. "Do you think you can handle getting at least your pants off, Captain?" Piers knew they didn't have much time before they had to move on, and he understood they could only afford a quick fuck – like every other time._

"_Oh. Yeah, of course," he undid the button, unzipped the zipper – all with ease, luckily – and waited. He didn't watch Piers as he stood there, though; he looked everywhere _but _at Piers. And he thought, too. He thought about why this time he shook, why this time he couldn't act like the man everyone thought he was: strong and courageous._

"_Captain?" Piers' voice cut through the black cloud that had been beginning to form in his mind – the cloud that would've left him there, sobbing into Piers' shoulder._

_Quickly shaking his head, Chris straightened up. "Let's get this over with," he went over to the grimy concrete wall and planted both hands on dull gray blocks, positioning the rest of his body to make it easy for Piers. He'd take him this time. He'd allow it, because if he were to lead, it'd be just as difficult as trying to open those straps._

_Piers didn't ask any questions, and he seemed to understand that Chris couldn't – wouldn't – lead this time._

_And Piers didn't really care, because at moments like this – when Chris wasn't quite sure about himself leading all those men – Chris was his, and he treated him like he was the most precious thing in the world._

_And quite frankly, Chris _was_ the most precious thing in the world. So precious that it made Piers wish all the times they fucked were slow and loving, because Piers loved his Captain, and he wanted Chris to feel like he did have worth, that he should stay captain. He'd have followed him to the ends of the earth preaching that to him if it were possible._

_He'd follow Chris to the end of the war, and that's all he needed._

"_Piers," Chris breathed, then. "We don't fucking have time to stand around and daydream."_

"_I – Sorry, Captain," but daydreaming would have been so much better, because there, Chris would always belong to him._

_So as he sank into Chris without warning, and without any sort of lubrication, his possessiveness showed – but he didn't mean to hurt his Captain. Nonetheless, Chris seemed to savor the roughness, the richness, and the reality of the whole thing, despite his sharp intake of breath moments ago._

"_Yeah, just like that," were the last four coherent words Chris said before the only things leaving his mouth were little moans and profanities._

_Then Piers angled his thrusts differently and the longest line of curses slid off of his Captain's tongue._

_And in no time at all, Chris was spilling his life's worth upon the dingy wall in front of him, his subordinate's turn not far behind._

_Several heavy breaths later, and all clothing having been put back to normal upon their bodies, Chris took the moment to comment. "Damn," he hung his head, shook it slowly, and chuckled. "That was great."_

That leadership Piers displayed had all come crashing down once he died, but Chris would always hold him in high regard.

xxx

_It only hurts when it's over._

xxx

Piers had died, and with his death, Chris had become a shell of a man once so strong and responsible.

Chris' alcoholism had gotten worse, his bar tabs had gotten higher, and his depression had started to border on suicidal because of the fact that everything was gone. The last remaining bits of happiness had been stripped from him in China, and there was really no reason for him to live.

Chris clung to cans of alcohol, though, like they were his happiness, and to him, they were. The one he had now was warm and half empty – the same one he had opened before he fell asleep.

He didn't remember when he woke up, but it didn't matter. He was too drunk to care.

But when he heard the bell above the door jingle again, he did care.

Because the figure that walked in, as blurry as they were, seemed familiar. The voice that came, then, seemed familiar, too.

"I found you, Captain."

"Piers." It was Piers. It was his subordinate. It was the reason for his pain.

And he repeated the name like it was a fucking mantra.

xxx

**Disclaimers**:

_1.)_ 'Smile,' by sassygayregent (in the fact that Piers only smiles at Chris).

_2.)_ Capcom – they own the franchise.

3.)Any other Nivanfield fics that this bares resemblance to.

**Extra Notes**: I'll be writing a sequel for this.


End file.
